Chapter 6 - The Telegrams and the Codes
As the night wore on,
the rosemary-scented air felt increasingly heavy with the weight of the past.
We spread the documents out across the table,
the navy-blue napkin now buried under a mountain of secrets.
There were telegrams dating back to the late seventies,
coded messages that looked like random strings of numbers.
But next to them,
Richard had written the decryptions in the margins.
"Threat neutralized,"
one read.
"Asset extracted,"
said another.
"Location secure."
I saw dates that coincided with major world events—the fall of the Berlin Wall,
the turn of the millennium,
the various crises that had flickered across our television screen.
While I was worrying about the price of fuel or the local bake sale,
my husband was receiving updates on global stability.
"He wasn't just a guard,"
Daniel observed,
pointing to a list of names.
"He was a handler."
"He had people all over the world reporting to him."
I picked up a photograph that had been tucked into the back of the notebook.
It was Richard,
looking much younger,
standing in front of a stone wall in a place that looked like Eastern Europe.
He was wearing a heavy wool coat,
and his expression was one of absolute,
unshakable resolve.
There was a woman standing next to him,
her face blurred by time or a deliberate smudge.
"Who is she?"
I asked,
my jealousy flaring up even after two years of widowhood.
"That was his first partner,"
The Architect's voice came back on the line,
as if he were listening to my thoughts.
"She didn't make it out of Prague."
"That was the day he decided he wanted a life that was quiet."
"That was the day he decided to become a farmer."
I looked at the photo again,
seeing the grief in Richard's young eyes.
He had come to our town with a broken heart and a dangerous past,
and he had used me to heal.
But he had also spent the rest of his life making sure that his past never touched our porch.
"I feel like my whole life was a stage play,"
I whispered,
the cider in the glass finally tasting bitter.
"It wasn't a play,
Sarah,"
the voice insisted.
"The love was real."
"The farm was real."
"He just had to keep the wolves away from the door."
"And now,"
May you like
the voice added,
"the wolves are wondering why the Eagle's nest is empty."
